


An Apocryphus to the Winchester Gospels

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Characters Writing Fanfiction, M/M, The Winchester Gospels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excerpts from "An Apocryphus to the Winchester Gospels", posted on the Supernatural book series fan boards under "fic", over the course of several months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Apocryphus to the Winchester Gospels

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a side piece to a fic I never wrote, in which instead of keeping their Grace after Metatron's spell, the angels fell and became, essentially, soul-eating monsters (with loopholes for other types of energy). It's not "complete" as such, but I'm not working on it, and the fic isn't going to happen, so I figured I'd throw it up here for someone to enjoy.
> 
> The book at the end is, of course, Good Omens.

1.

Angels are obedient, and we/they love God our Father. The word in Enochian that is used to refer to our love for our Father contains elements of the meaning of the word _obedience_. The structure of English means that this sentence implies that these states of being - obedience, and love - are separate. That isn't true.

 

2.

I am limited by my use of human language. I write in English because the Winchester Gospels are written in it, and I write this for human eyes and minds and thoughts, since soon there won't be any more angels. 

I can't describe in human words what the human mind can't perceive and isn't meant to. There are entire lexicons of words in Enochian to describe dimensions that humanity doesn't perceive and only a few can conceive. There is a word I would use to describe Dean Winchester that has no translation, because humans aren't meant to see souls, and don't have the senses that this word depends on (a combination of the ability to determine exactly at what rate a soul emits energy along a spectrum of wavelengths and frequencies, and the ability to concretely perceive and functionally measure degrees of metaphysical goodness).

I would prefer to write this record in Enochian, but I would rather it be read.

 

3.

I wasn't the only angel sent into Hell to save Dean Winchester.

 

4.

Angels do not make things. That is our Father's act. We are ultimately warriors, and we purge our Father's glory of impurities.

I made him again from cold flesh rotting in the earth. Maybe it's prideful to think that I could make anything. That would explain some things.

 

5.

I didn't Fall "for him". I Fell because I made a choice to be disobedient. To Heaven, this is equivalent to failing to love my Father. Heaven is not my Father. If it were, I would still be dead.

 

6.

Ask instead: why did I choose disobedience?

 

7.

Naomi said I was made incorrectly. This assumes that our Father is capable of making mistakes. I'm not sure what to make of that: as Sam likes to say, Critical thinking isn't high on the list of angel learning objectives. I deal better in concrete facts than theology.

If I am broken, I like to think that the cracks in my nature were placed with great care. It takes careful engineering to make sure a part fails in exactly the right way under the right conditions. It would be nice to believe that my Father paid extra attention to my creation.

 

8.

The civil war in Heaven, in which I led the rebel faction, was not glorious. No guerrilla combat ever is.

An angel should bear a sword (or at least the spiritual representation of one) honestly, and fight directly. Not sneak through the underbelly of human heavens, and strike zir siblings from behind (whatever behind means when an angel has four metaphorical faces that turn every way).

We were terrorists in our own realm.

 

9.

He fears abandonment. I've left him several times and returned every one. I don't worry that he will leave me: where could he go that I would not follow?

 

10.

I should tell this story linearly, even though temporal linearity is, physically speaking, caused by a limitation on human perception rather than an actual meaningful measurement for this situation.

In terms of causational order, you are already familiar with the events that directly impacted the Winchesters: the struggle for supremacy, my focus on the energy of human souls. So I'll tell it as it comes to me instead.

Angels cut off from Heaven can be and are sustained by the energy of souls, which are, theologically speaking, small fission reactions on dimensions which humans don't perceive. After death, they continue to emit energy, but without a physical body to connect to, this energy is released into Heaven.

Angels are, simplistically, fusion reactions, among other things. We can and do use that energy. Heaven is a continuous exchange of energy between angels in which we borrow from human souls and then lend to each other.

As rebels, we couldn't access this energy - the most accurate metaphor would be that our supply lines had been cut - so ever more drastic measures seemed reasonable in our increasing desperation. Approximately a hundred of the angels in my forces burned out and collapsed in on themselves, despite energy given from others.

Any energy held by an angel killed with an angel blade, is converted to a form unusable to other angels. I assume it's by design.

By that point we weren't above what you might view as cannibalism: stripping the energy from the hearts of their forms, merging it with our own, sharing it among ourselves.  
Of course I would have glutted myself on the souls in Purgatory after being on near-starvation rations in Heaven. Of course I made myself sick with it.

 

11.

I'm glad that my grace was stolen as the second-to-last step in casting all the angels from Heaven. If I had kept it, I would have been like them. If they thought it was below them to eat the souls of bottom-feeders as they saw humans to be, then it would have been worse for me, who finds so many human souls so beautiful. I'm glad.

 

12.

He is like these things in ways I can't fathom:  
becoming unbalanced, and then realizing there is something holding you anyway  
the molecular surface of a steel can  
the exhaustion of a solar-powered calculator when it finally falls asleep  
light at the wavelength of 524 angstroms (only three significant digits)  
the smell of touching a computer keyboard at a public library  
a small planetoid orbiting a brown dwarf star, which appears from earth's night sky to be near the star known as sirius. 

 

13.

If he sees this he will tell me that I have shared too much. He will probably ask me to take parts out, and I will do it, but I think that it is my choice, too, what I will share. That my discomfort is not where his is.

I hope he is less discomforted than he acts. He tells me _personal space_ and then doesn't move away. I don't mind as long as he doesn't push me away.

 

14.

He pushes me away anyway. I don't appreciate the phrase _mixed messages_ , which implies that emotional states can't change, or that there can't be underlying factors. It says that consent is always complete and that revoking it is nonpermissible.

If today he watches me with wonder and hope, and tomorrow he takes his frustration out on me, then something between us has changed, and he's reacting to it. I don't doubt his affection. He is deeper than he thinks. What would I wait for, or feel entitled to, that I would feel slighted by his moods?

 

Ψ

I find the words of the Biblical Ruth to the Biblical Naomi comforting; I would take him into the house of He who made me; and there hold him close until the end of all things or until he sent me away.

 

Ω

My siblings would be angry to know that so many take the words of a prophet as simple fiction. You think this is a story by some other fan who has a deep affection for the character Castiel.

If you knew that it's all true - that you're in danger of being possessed by a demon, that your town has a nest of vampires, that the rattling in your walls is a ghost, that no angels are watching over you because we were all cast out - then you would spend all your time huddled with fear.

Sam gave me a book recently. There is an angel who remains an angel, and an angel who _sauntered vaguely downward_ \- I didn't like that part; there's no sauntering at terminal velocity, reentering the atmosphere and burning up, while the slow leak of grace is excruciating - and the angel says to the other, "They looked so cold, poor things."

No human is cold. Your souls keep you warm.


End file.
